


Nebel

by HandsOfGold



Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsOfGold/pseuds/HandsOfGold
Summary: And I won't stop loving you, until the very end.





	Nebel

As you read this you will know what happened. I do not want to tell you I am sorry.

Shaking fingers wandered across the paper, smoothened it where it needed to be. A pair of eyes stared blankly at it, investigating the unintelligibly messy handwriting. His hands lingered above the sheet for a split second only before they crashed down onto it, crumbled it to rip it apart. The pieces, hurled away from him, descended down next to his shape silently. He reached for the light switch to turn it off.

The darkness was a sweet redemption, easing the pain in his burning eyes. The room was never quite dark for the snow blanket that covered grass and wood and asphalt all the same reflected pure, white light that fell into the room. Crystals of ice had formed on the icy glass of the windows, a stream of coldness extended from there, reaching out for his body to enwrap it mercilessly.

He could only imagine how soothing this cover was for the world underneath; a time of rest and sleep, a temporary death before being reborn to bloom beautifully in Spring. When he closed his eyes he could feel the heaviness settling down on him, the frost and the snow that swallowed every sound and feeling.

From a distant room somewhere in the house music flooded into the room, a silent, constant stream of melody and soothing voices. The vinyl spun around at slow pace, playing songs of heroes and love for his broken, weary mind. The music came to his ear and failed to reach his soul, he could hear it but not feel it. It was mere sound, all its emotions swallowed by the numbness within, whatever it might once have meant to him was inevitably gone.

He opened his eyes. The darkness around, flooded by the palest light, welcomed him, wrapped him in an embrace of the darkest thoughts, the thoughts it kept only for the two of them and would not reveal when light was present, in whichever form it might show. These things were not meant for anybody's ears or eyes.

His fingers touched his wrist, only lightly, to feel the pulse of life that still vibrated within him somehow. The vein shone through his pale skin, ever present without showing what rested within it was uneven, skin hovering above its usual position, just like a scar.

He began tracing the vein, up his lower and upper arm. As far as he could feel his skin was as cold as ice, as it was the be expected considering the coldness in the entire house. His blood was frozen to snow. His entire body seemed prepared to be put to rest and, eventually, home into nothingness.

Numb, his shaking fingers wrote onto the paper.

I've become so numb it hurts. Paradox, isn't it? You can't believe it until you've felt it. You would never want to feel it. You would sacrifice everything for not having to feel this way.

The pen lingered on the paper. A drop of pitch black ink fell onto it, forming a stain that extended to consume half of the last written word. The paper threatened to tear apart where the stain had dropped, softened and weakened by the wetness of the ink. He was still in doubt whether he should write these thoughts down, these thoughts that were for nobody but him and the darkness.

I thought I was cured. But every time you indulge yourself in misconceptions the bitter truth will eventually hit you harder. Punish your foolishness.

He closed his eyes. The music kept playing. He couldn't understand the words. When was the last time he'd felt it?

They said numbness was comfortable, a farewell to the pain that tormented, stabbed, burned, screamed, cut and tore apart. But it wasn't true. Numbness meant losing the pain. Yet numbness brought a different kind of pain, one that couldn't simply be described as pain, one that was so distant that it wasn't actually there, one that was only an echo of pain and, just by being this, it hurt you the more. Numbness took away every little joy in life that could previously have eased or blended out the pain. Numbness was everything. Numbness was nothing. It creeped into your brain and you welcomed it as oblivion, were grateful that it took away your pain. You didn't notice the damage until it was irreversibly done.

I missed you.

He couldn't exactly tell where the numbness had stemmed from, couldnt pinpoint the moment in which he'd allowed it into his brain. Had it been because of the pain? The hate? The guilt? The shame? The love?

I loved you.

All that was left was a faded, black-and-white image of the face, a distant echo of the voice, a ghostly remainder of a softly thrilling touch. The numbness had taken away all the things that had filled him with enchanting ecstasy, once upon a time.

If there is one thing I regret, it is letting the numbness in and allowing it to make me forget all of you. If there will be one thing I regret in my last minutes it will not having the memory of your voice accompany me when I drown.

He hadn't noticed the fading of all the memories until they had been wiped out. He could only imagine what they must have felt like now. And without them, without the all-consuming, burning passion, what was there on this earth? What was the purpose of lingering as an empty shell, always accompanied by the distant echoes of feelings of shame?

I wish fate would have taken a different turn. Letting oblivion in seemed so sweetly redeeming before I realized its price. There is still an echo of regret somewhere in my memories about something you know only too well. Hadn't the memories of you that all my senses held been wiped out... this would have been my greatest regret.

If he took a journey into the very depths of his mind he believed to feel the touch on his lips still, so light that it was unreal but there. The endless hours of loneliness that followed it had ultimately led to this very night.

He put pen and paper aside, to gaze at the black sky, a distant ocean of slumber, far beyond human comprehension. Maybe pieces of him would wander there one day. Maybe its matter ran through his veins as well.

His hand wandered back to the pale, cold vein of his arm, running over it oh so softly. Far away the music kept playing for his broken eyes. He put the needle to his skin and asked it in.

The numbness was fading for this little time, he knew. The world, even drenched in blackness as it was, exploded in thousands of cascading colours. The ice in his veins melted and shot the blood through his body.

He knew this wasn't how he'd used to perceive the world before he'd let the numbness in, but against the numbness he embraced even this distorted form of memory.

The music was screaming against his ears now, it drowned in his bloodstream, shot right into his pumping heart to accelerate its beat until he believed his chest would explode. The singing voice screamed in his brain, guitar strings cut into his flesh, drum beats hammered in his chest.

Drum beats...

He closed his eyes, largely shutting out the painful pulse of the music in his body. It was all there now, a thrill that caused his body to quiver and shake and make him weak in his kness, the touch that blacked out his mind and made his heart rate soar into starry heights. The regret, piercing his pumping heart like an arrow to shoot fountains of blood from the wound as it kept beating.

For once I can recall it all. It was you who eased the pain. It was me who brought it back.

The knowledge was there, unbearable in his body that had turned into a time bomb. The detonation would follow, leaving... nothing. Nothing that was even more unbearable than the numbness. The weak stars in the night sky had exploded into supernovas of blinding light. Snowflakes had begun to dance.

With bare feet he stepped into the snow. Against his heated, burning skin the cold felt like sewing needles in his flesh, driven in so deep they nailed him to his cross. The one needle that was truly there drowned in the sheer mass of them, vanishing, before it glid from his skin to drop to the ground.

Something exploded.

He shut his eyes, but did not awake from his painfully vital ecstasy. The supernovas faded at the instant as did the memories, as desperately as he tried to recall them, keep them close to his heart. The darkness was back, the numbness was coming, all that he felt was the icy breeze on his skin as he fell into blackness, deeper and deeper, and the ice cold blanket descended onto him.

\---

I know you well enough to know you will believe you should have done more, but let me tell you, nothing more could have been done for me than the things you did. You brought me back to life, if only for a short time, and if I had done better I could have stayed in that life, by your side.  
I know you will inevitably blame yourself, but let me tell you: the only one to blame is me, for my foolishness. For welcoming the numbness. For letting you go.  
I do not think you will be entirely surprised if I tell you I love you now. None of us ever voiced it, yet we both knew somehow, didn't we? I should never have left it like this. In the end, you see, we were both alone.  
Nothing can ever fight the numbness. But if there could have been anything to prevent it, it would have been you. You shine bright enough not to let it close to you.  
I don't think there is a way of knowing what could have happened between us. The one thing I want you to know is that I have never, not for one second, stopped longing for your touch or stopped loving you. And I would never have done so.  
You were the light to drive out the darkness, but it was not your fault that it returned and brought the numbness.  
I will not stop loving you until the very end.

He pressed the letter against his chest. The paper crumbled in his hands. He pressed his eyes, filling with tears, shut so tightly that he could see little supernovas. His hands were cold.

He held onto the paper, this last remainder of the very man he had loved with his heart and soul and dedication. He knew that the pain and the guilt would come, eventually, but for now he tasted the numbness his beloved had spoken of. He pressed the paper closer to his chest. The memories were still there.

The shy, enchanting, anxious smile. Red hair that could be dark or flaming. Flawless skin, covered but not tainted by little scars. Tearstained eyes that could shine like no others. Arms that wrapped around him like they would never let him go. Kisses, full of desire and hunger but always contained until he allowed it.

The train station, minutes before the only train there at this hour would depart. How they'd stared at each other, both unwilling to turn away, walk away, break the eye contact. The day had been gray, his hair dark and windswept, with raindrops glistering in it. He couldn't have told whether the stains on his lover's face had been raindrops or tears.

"We'll see each other, then," the other had whispered in a pressed voice.

"We will," he'd answered, trying to sound cheerful.

His lover had thrown both arms around him and kissed him so passionately and desperately it had taken his breath. He'd felt his head on the curve of his neck, had wrapped his arms around his small form, kissed him back so long until the train conductor had harshly called on him to enter the train.

That had been the last time he'd seen him.

He pressed the paper to his chest again, recalled every feature he'd loved as he held the blood of his lover's soul. Despite the numbness he knew what feelings he would be going through if he kept loving him. Recalling his picture again and again he knew he would keep loving him until his final breath.

With the last piece of his beloved he would ever hold in hand he finally broke down.


End file.
